Never Too Late
by RenaRoo
Summary: Mother's Day isn't the easiest part of the year.


I actually wrote this last year, so it's a little off from most of my characterization now, I think. But I found it on my parents' computer and it seemed like I found it for a reason.

So here we go, Rena's fandom contribution to Mother's Day~

Batman and related properties © DC Comics  
story © RenaRoo

 **Never Too Late**

Jason leaned back against the chassis of his bike, hands shoved as far as they would go into the pockets of his leather jacket. He was concentrating with incredible focus on the sidewalk cracks, to the point that he was beginning to form patterns.

When the last of his cigarettes reached the filter, he half contemplated getting back on the now cold bike and finding the nearest convenience store to restock.

He sighed and flicked away the butt of the cigarette, watching it with disinterest as it rolled some before joining the collection he had been forming.

The wind nipped and he straightened up the collar of his jacket. Only in Gotham would it be this cold two Sundays into May.

"Damn it," he hissed before kicking off of his bike lightly and at last crossing the cracked sidewalk to reach the gate.

Every step felt slightly heavier and it took every cell of his brain screaming _chicken_ for him to not just turn back and hit one of his favorite bars. He had almost convinced himself that whiskey would cure the clenching of his stomach when he found the wall.

His eyes strained in the darkness. He silently cursed himself for putting it off for so long before deciding that it was the Divinity Church's fault for being cheap and not lighting up their cemetery.

With a huff made visible in the cold Gotham air, Jason reached into his pocket and relinquished a lighter.

And Bruce said nothing good came from his habit.

With his hand steadied and the plaques illuminated in front of him, Jason began to search for the name.

It had been so long since he visited that he honestly only vaguely knew where it was. When he did find it, it had been lower than he expected.

Then he remembered he had been almost two feet shorter that last time.

He swore under his breath, looking to his boots and trying so hard to even out his breaths. This was supposed to have gotten easier over the years. He was a man now. He was...

Jason looked up reluctantly, as if it would hurt if he did not keep his eyes averted, but he locked onto the plaque again.

 _Catherine Todd_  
 _Loving Mother_

After nearly dropping his lighter, he flicked it off and pocketed it for safe keeping.

He shakily reached up, fingers lightly running over the raised letters. With a stuttered breath, he bit his lip and held back a sob that shouldn't have been there to begin with.

 _I'm a man now, I..._

"'M'sorry," he whispered to the wind, eyes burning. "I... it's two weeks late..." he breathed shallowly and shook his head. "It's... a few years late but... You. You were the best. For me. You did everything you could for an ungrateful lil' shit." He swallowed around the lump in his throat then continued. "I... You know, I wasn't even yours. Really. You didn't have to... You had so little anyway. We couldn't rub nickles together... but you were my m... Mom."

He reached up with his free hand, the other still faintly touching the plaque, and rubbed harshly at his face. "Damn it," he swore. He ignored that voice, her voice, that chided him for language.

Some lessons he was never very good at learning.

"Alright, Todd," he hissed at himself. "Stop wasting everyone's time."

With his own reprimand in hand, he looked to the wall again, his brow and frown tightly brought into a well-practiced scowl. He had a message to deliver after all.

"I'm still kickin' this time around," he informed the words on the bronze plaque. "Shocking, I know. I'm... not especially proud of everything I've done. Hell, sometimes I think about what you'd think if... if, y'know. But I'm kickin'. And I'm trying. I know that's probably all you'd ask me to do."

It felt like a debriefing. That was definitely more comfortable to swallow than the idea of speaking to thin air.

"So," attempting one last time, "it's years late, but y'know me enough to not think much of that. And I just couldn't bring myself to come two weeks ago. Too normal. But... happy mother's day."

He looked over all that remained of Catherine Todd in the world and nodded to himself. Mission accomplished.

"Yeah... yeah, alright then," he whispered before taking his hand off the wall, putting it back in his pocket, and turning to leave from the gates he came through.

As he came across the old oak that was taking up far too much space in a place that couldn't afford to give an orphaned twelve-year-old a plot for his dead mother, Jason stopped and glared at the shadowed branches.

"You could have the decency of not acting like I can't sense you up there," he snapped, feeling the strength returning to his body.

He waited for a response.

"Saw your motorcycle," the familiar voice explained quietly. "Wanted to make sure you were alright."

Jason felt his snarl, but didn't have the emotional capacity to put bite behind it. "I'm fine," he croaked out. "Just peachy."

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Jason shifted his weight to one foot. He wished he had a cigarette so badly...

"You won't have to clean up after me tonight," he sneered as he looked to his boots. "I think I'm going to call it a night. Pretty sore from this week already."

It was a half-hearted lie at best. Gotham had been oddly quiet for the past week.

He wasn't called out on it.

"Alright." Then, with some hesitation, "If you... need to talk."

"Please, Bruce," Jason sighed. "I'll go to Alfred."

They parted, and Jason fiddled with his collar in a vain attempt to hide the smile that was sneaking its way onto his lips.

For some reason, he felt that was the part of his life that Catherine Todd was happy to see.


End file.
